48 Years, 32 Lessons (And a Little Chinese Food)

 

Today, I turn 48. My son turns 32.

All he asked for was Chinese food. That’s it. And honestly? That’s enough.

I used to think birthdays had to be big or loud. But the older I get, the more I value the soft moments. The ones no one claps for. Like walking into a gallery, I run with my own two hands. Or hitting “publish” on something I wrote from my soul. Or cooking dinner for my brother between drives, deadlines, and dreams.

I’ve lived 48 years, and I’ve learned at least 32 solid lessons. Here are just a few:

• Rest is work too.
• You can’t pour from an empty tank.
• Sometimes your breakthrough looks like a breakdown.
• Protect your art. Protect your peace. Protect your passwords.
• And your purpose? It doesn’t expire. Even when life feels like it’s running out of time.

Today, I’m grateful to still be here.
I’ve got bills due, books to finish, and mountains to climb. But I’ve also got stories to tell, people who believe in me, and Kung Pao chicken waiting on the stove.

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to him. And happy birthday to every writer out there refusing to give up on themselves. You are worth the work.